


Out in the Open

by Taamar



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Glitter!, Halloween, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taamar/pseuds/Taamar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween is the one time Cardiff’s resident alien population can go out in their true faces. They aren’t the only ones taking off their masks tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Halloween and posted on fanfiction.net. I'm currently suffering from a crisis of creativity; so many concepts, so little plot, and I'm hoping posting will get things moving. Anyway, this story is complete, look for the other two chapters in the next few days. Beta read by the amazing Gmariam, whose work you should totally read.

Jack grumbled in irritation when he heard the Rift alert sound through the Hub. It was Halloween; he had sent his team home early, hoping they could enjoy a holiday, for a change, and now he was going to have to call someone in. He could take care of Weevils without help, but a Rift event called for backup. Part of his irritation was that he knew who he had to call. It was Tosh’s usual night off, so she was last on the list. Gwen was planning to go out with Rhys, and given everything she had been through, including her (badly concealed) affair with Owen, he wanted to give them a chance to reconnect. Owen himself was almost certainly on the prowl, and not sober enough to help except in a true emergency. That left Ianto Jones. 

Not that Ianto wasn’t just as capable of supporting the Jack as the others, as evidenced by his bravery in Brynblaidd, but Jack's feelings toward the man were… complicated at best. There was attraction, of course; Ianto was tall and beautiful, with a lithe grace and mouth that, when curved into one of his all-too-rare smiles, made Jack fantasize about all the things he’d like to do with it. And there was respect, because Ianto had not only survived Canary Wharf, he’d dragged what was left of his girlfriend out as well. If she had been unconscious, rather than partially converted, he truly would have saved her. Ianto was devious and clever. He’d weaseled his way into Torchwood 3 using himself and a pterodactyl as bait, integrated himself invisibly, and made himself indispensable, all while maintaining the distant façade that had allowed him to sneak a Cyberman into the Hub and care for her without anyone noticing. Even now, they would have trouble keeping the place running without him. Which brought him to his next feeling: deep wariness, based not solely on his attraction and respect, but on the man’s willingness to use them as tools, and on his own willingness to be fooled by a pretty face. And, if he was honest with himself, the knowledge that those very same things made Ianto Jones potentially a huge distraction.

Worst of all, Jack was hurt. There had been an undeniable connection between them in the warehouse the night he’d finally given in and hired Ianto, and since then, their playful flirtation and the way he anticipated all of Jack’s needs had left him wondering if maybe there could be something more between them than a meaningless tumble. Then he'd found out what Ianto was hiding, and all his fantasies burned to ash. 

All this was jumbled in his head, but when it came down to it, none of it mattered. Ianto was capable, if inexperienced, and it wasn’t fair to the others that he’d rather call one of them in because of his own misgivings. He sat at his desk, and, after resting his face in his hands for a moment, he took a deep breath. And made the call. 

 

  
Jack was trying to calibrate Toshiko’s mapping program when he heard the alarm announcing Ianto’s arrival. He finished what he was working on (unsuccessfully), and went to find Ianto. Unsurprisingly, he found the man making coffee. As he approached, Ianto turned and offered him a steaming cup. Jack tried to tell himself that it was only in his imagination that Ianto’s fingers lingered on his as he took his coffee. 

“Thank you for this,” he said, raising his mug, “Before you came we either suffered our own brewing efforts, which ranged from ‘weak’ to ‘burnt’, or we went out. Even Tosh couldn’t figure out how to use this coffee maker.”

Ianto glanced at him before turning to tamp grounds for his own beverage. “She’s not a ‘coffee maker’, sir. This is a vintage 1953 Gaggia espresso machine. A handmade piece of precision engineering, and the reason you make obscene sounds with every sip. And if you call her a ‘coffee maker’ in my hearing ever again, I will never make you another latte.”

Chastened, Jack took a sip and suppressed his usual moan. He watched for a moment while Ianto steamed and added the milk to his espresso, marking a tiny decorative flourish on the foam. As with everything else, Ianto paid studious attention to the details, including wearing a suit when called in to work on Halloween. “You could have worn casual clothes, you know. We’re a bit outside of working hours.”

“Last time I dressed down for work I was nearly killed. I thought it best not to take the risk.”

Jack chuckled, glad that Ianto was able to apply his usual deadpan humour to the traumatic events of only a few weeks past. “Let’s get you up to speed on what’s happening, then. The Rift alert has gone off five times in the past hour, but Tosh’s mapping program isn’t showing anything. If it were only one alert, I’d consider it a glitch, but this many? We can’t afford to ignore it, even if it _is_ nothing.”

“So what do we do? Drive around looking for strange things? On Halloween?” Ianto sipped at his mug and licked the foam off his upper lip. Jack closed his eyes and reminded himself that this was business. 

“I was thinking we’d monitor police calls, airwaves, and social media for the usual signs of weirdness. You’re the best of us at separating signal from noise on things like that, but I should be able to sort out some obvious negative results.”

“Let’s get to it then, sir.”

Jack wished. 

 

  


Two hours later, Ianto pushed himself back from the terminal he was using and threw his hands in the air. “We’ve found nearly two dozen possibilities, and none seem any more or less likely. We’ve got to narrow this down, or it’ll take all bloody night.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Tosh’s program… she’s a genius, but does it track _every_ alien device? Or only those meeting certain critetia?”

Jack thought for a moment. “It doesn’t look for the artifacts, exactly, it looks fo-“ Jack stopped as he suddenly realized what they needed. “You’re brilliant! I could kiss you!” He was gratified to see Ianto blush slightly, and continued, “The solution isn’t more tech, it’s less. Tosh’s program maps the energy surrounding the device… it’s like a GPS. What we need is a compass. Do you know where that Rift Activity Locator you had the night I hired you is?”

“I ought to, one of my first jobs here was archiving it.”

“Then let us retrieve it, and the game is afoot, Jones, Ianto Jones!”

“Sherlock Bond, sir?”

“A devastating combination of cool intellect, super spy skills, and a smoking’ hot body. The perfect man.”

 

  


While Ianto retrieved the Rift Activity Locator, Jack got out a comm earpiece and registered it on the Torchwood network. Ianto hadn’t been issued one since he wasn’t considered a field agent, but now that things were changing, he’d need to be equipped. Jack would have Tosh assign him a dedicated signal and calibrate the unit later; this one was only on the public channel. He passed the unit to Ianto on their way to the SUV. Ianto took it and put it in his ear with a nod, silently acknowledging Jack’s unspoken promotion from ‘administrative support’. Once they were on their way, they locked onto the first signal they found and followed it to Bute Park. Jack parked (illegally, as Ianto pointed out), and followed the locator through the park. Jack smiled as they ran past the spot where they had first met. Ianto Jones had intrigued him from the start; in that first instant he had known Ianto was brave and a little reckless. He understood why, now, but he was still impressed by the man’s nerve. He wondered if Ianto was remembering that night as well. 

Thinking about how Ianto had looked in those denims, Jack had an inspiration. He passed the locator device to Ianto and asked him to lead so Jack could look around. What he didn’t say was that it was Ianto’s arse he would be watching. 

“So why does this work when the thing at the Hub doesn’t? How is this a compass and that a GPS?” Ianto asked as he moved ahead. 

“Tosh’s program is designed to map from a distance. When Rift energy interacts with the physical world it creates… ripples, I suppose. Like a stone tossed in a pond. By tracking those ripples back, we can see where the ‘stone’ must have fallen. A moving object leaves a wake, like a boat on the water. The program doesn’t look for the thing, it looks for patterns. But what we’re after somehow didn’t create ripples, so we need something that looks for anything with Rift traces and points to it.”

The tracking device led them to a closely wooded area, and they began looking around, hoping to find something out of place. Jack was starting to wonder if there was anything to be found after all when Ianto called him over to where he was crouched by a small cluster of bushes. He pointed to the base, which twinkled with tiny flashes of light, colour, and dark. “That can’t be natural, can it?” he asked.

Jack knelt down to take a look. “Not at all; that’s almost certainly what brought us here, and likely what triggered the alert. I call it ‘Rift Glitter’.”

“Rift Glitter, sir?”

“Well, what would _you_ call it?”

“Dark Sparks?”

“You think that’s better than Rift Glitter?”

Ianto shrugged. “It’s quite pretty though. My niece would be wild over it. An alien race could take over the world with an army of pre-pubescent girls if they brought enough of this stuff.”

Jack hadn’t known Ianto had a niece; his personnel file from Torchwood One hadn’t mentioned any siblings, or any family at all, actually. He’d noticed such discrepancies before, and Jack wondered if Ianto had merely edited his file, or if it was a complete fabrication. He resolved to ask Ianto about it another time. Playfully, he swiped up some of the twinkles with his index finger and, before Ianto could pull away, rubbed it on his nose. Ianto went momentarily cross-eyed trying to see it, then wiped it off with the sleeve of his jacket. The jacket sparkled. He wiped the spot with his other hand, then wiped his hand on his trouser leg. Each time, the glitter transferred, leaving behind bright sparks of light and darkness. Ianto looked distraught. 

“It’ll wear off, I promise,” Jack assured him. “The glitter itself is harmless, it’s just the byproduct. The real danger is the device that produced these. It sort of… scrapes against time and space. These are the scrapings. The device damages the deep structures of the Rift, creating a weak point. That’s why it set off the alert but not the map program—there’s no movement, no ripples. I’m glad we came looking, this is dangerous tech; with the barrier weakened, the small tears we usually see things come through could become a huge gash, and the more tiny abrasions there are, the more catastrophic the Rift event will be when the structure finally gives. Whoever is using it, we have to find them. “

Ianto stood and glared at Jack when dusting his hands off on his trousers transferred glitter. “Do we just follow the tracker all night? Or will it keep tracking this stuff instead of the device? I don‘t remember the Rift program logging anything large or organic that could have carried it, so it could be anywhere.”

Jack considered his options. He didn’t really want to let Ianto in on one of his secrets, but prevaricating would hamper the search. “I suspect one of our out-of-area ‘guests’ has it.”

“Guests? Aliens?”

“Yeah. Aliens. Sometimes the Rift delivers peaceful beings, or they crash here or come as refugees, and I do my best to get them settled in. ID if they can pass, a place to stay and some connections if they can’t… usually some money, too.”

“That doesn’t sound very ‘Torchwood’ to me. Not after Mary and¬¬–”

“Violence is always the last resort, but this isn’t a Torchwood thing, it’s just me. The others don’t know.”

“I can keep a secret, sir.”

“Yes, well…” The less said on that topic, the better. “Normally it would be easy to find out who is doing this. I have a list of all the aliens I’ve helped, and contact information, but it’s Halloween.” Ianto looked as if he didn’t understand, so Jack continued, “A number of our guests don’t look human enough to go out, no matter what they do. But on Halloween… well, no one looks twice, unless to compliment them on their costume. It’s a big party night for sentient non-humans. They’ll be all over Cardiff; some having their own gathering, and some out on the town with everyone else. Sadly, there’s no way for me to track them, but I’ll recognize most of them on sight. It looks like you’re going on a party crawl with me.”

 

  


Back at the Hub, Ianto made them each another cup of coffee as they discussed their strategy. "It’s Halloween; everyone is in costume, and we’re going to the sort of places where aliens will blend in. Don’t you think we’ll be a bit conspicuous, sir?” Ianto said, motioning at his suit and tie.

Jack grinned. “I have a plan.” Oh, how he had a plan. He still had uniforms from his time in the RAF during WWII, and the thought of Ianto wearing one… well, it would make the whole night worth it. 

He led Ianto down into the section of the archives where they had kept the personal belongings of agents before they had run out of room and had to store off-site. When he reached the door, he began to tell Ianto the security code, but was bemused to see Ianto already keying it in. Another surprise. Inside the room, they passed crates labeled by year. Jack opened one and removed a battered Saratoga trunk from a low shelf. He opened it with the key that had been left in the lock and extracted two muslin-wrapped bundles. Peeking in the folds, Jack saw his old RAF flight suit, complete with bomber jacket, cap, and goggles. Exactly what he was looking for. The second package contained his old Service Dress uniform. He considered for a moment which he wanted to wear, but as soon as he pictured Ianto in the blue dress uniform, his decision was made. 

Jack passed the Service Dress uniform to Ianto. “Here's your costume. The flight suit will swim on you, this is a little more fitted.” He turned to sort through the trunk’s side compartment, looking for the appropriate insignia and accessories, hiding the ones he didn’t want Ianto to see. 

Ianto looked through the stack Jack had handed him. It was the complete uniform, including the trousers and belted jacket; braces, shirt, and tie; socks, undershirt, and briefs, which Ianto looked at with distaste. “I’m not wearing your underwear, sir,” said Ianto, pursing his lips.

“What makes you think it’s mine?” asked Jack, hoping his nervous twitch had been taken as surprise. 

“I’ve been working in the archives, and there are pictures of you, or someone who looks like you, at least that far back. The uniform looks to be your size, and I saw you palm the nameplate. I can’t imagine why you’d hide the former owner of these things, unless it was you. 

As usual, Ianto didn’t miss much, but Jack had hidden two nameplates. He produced one and handed it over. 

“Harper,” said Ianto. 

“Captain James Harper, 71st. My father. He was under cover, something to do with Ultra. Parts of it are still classified.”

Ianto wrinkled his nose. “Then I’m not wearing your _father’s_ underwear. That’s even worse, somehow.”

“Fair enough,” Jack said, passing the cap and rank insignia to go with the uniform, “You’ll have to wear your own shoes, but they haven't changed much over the years.” 

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Of course, sir. I’ll just go put this on.” 

As the Welshman left the archives, Jack reflected that, as much as he’d have liked to watch Ianto change, it was probably for the best that he not tempt himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, in the first chapter I forgot to mention that this takes place between Greeks Bearing Gifts and They Keep Killing Suzie. There are some hints, but it makes a bit more sense if you know where it falls. I'll admit that it started as a way to get Ianto into that outfit, but it ended up as a way to explain the change in Ianto's place on the team and comfort level with Jack between CW/SW/GBG and TKKS/OOT and later. TKKS is the first time you see Ianto standing with the team, as opposed to doing things for them in the background. Here's why (and as a bonus, here's Ianto in WWII Service Dress.)

Ianto Jones looked down at himself as he buckled the lap belt in the SUV, then fiddled with the buttons on his uniform. "I feel like a prat. The waist on these trousers is too high, and the belted jacket is just odd.”

“Style and cut have changed since the 40s. You look hot, trust me.” Jack bit his tongue and reminded himself not to tell Ianto exactly _how_ hot he looked, or what Jack would like to do to him. Ianto wouldn’t appreciate it, would probably mention something about harassment, and Jack didn’t think he could explain his fascination without revealing things he’d rather keep to himself. Still, he enjoyed the view very much. “Come on, we’ll start at Archer’s.”

Ianto looked like he wanted to ask something, but he stayed quiet, only wincing slightly when Jack cornered too quickly. They parked in front of an older, slightly run-down building with a battered wooden sign hung out. As they got out of the SUV, Jack pointed at the sign, which featured a stylized archer aiming up at a group of three seven-pointed stars. 

“ ’The Archer and Stars’, colloquially known as Archer’s. See those stars? That particular configuration is known all over the universe as a sign of hospitality. It means that the owner welcomes non-natives and enforces neutrality. Anywhere you see those stars, there’s an alien community. You could live here your whole life and walk by that symbol every day and not know a thing, but the ones who need it will recognize it a mile away.” Jack opened the door and motioned Ianto through. 

Archer’s on a normal night bordered on the surreal, but on Halloween it crossed right into bizarre. The patrons weren’t even _trying_ to pass, and the management seemed to have decided that the best way to keep the human guests from suspecting anything was to float them in alcohol and let them chalk any strange sightings up to drunken fantasy (or, as it appeared in many cases, to simply not remember them.) As Jack let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he looked to the counter and saw a bartender he recognized. They drifted over.

“Is Yamali available?” He asked the bartender quietly. Yamali owned the pub, but had what Jack liked to call _a diversified income stream_ ; most of the unreported artifacts passed through this club one way or another. For the most part, Jack left the underground economy to function without interference, since the goodwill of the community meant that he had ready access to information in times like this. 

“Not at the moment, but I’ll see if something can be arranged. If you’ll come with me, please?”

Jack thanked the bartender, who led them to a back room and motioned them to a booth. This alcove was filled with creatures even more fantastical than the front room. Ianto was clearly trying not to stare, so Jack took pity on him and explained. “Most of the patrons out there can make themselves look human, and pass well enough as costumed tonight, but this place also caters to those who can’t possibly look anything but alien, and this space is set aside for them. There’s an alley door and an underground entrance, both marked with those stars, for those who prefer to remain hidden.” A server with an elongated face and a slit-mouth without lips came over, and Jack ordered drinks for himself and Ianto, deciding it wasn’t worth risking letting Ianto order for himself and accidentally get alien booze. 

Ianto, who had been watching the dance floor, nodded toward a couple. “He could almost be a human in a costume, but something’s not right. Only I can’t quite tell what it is.”

Jack looked at the alien with the pale pink pelt for a moment, then pronounced, “Proportions. His legs are too short for his torso, but it can’t be a suit because his knees are correctly placed for the length of his legs." Jack pointed out the other aliens in the room, explaining how he could tell that they weren’t human.

“There are things an alien trying to look human just can’t fake. Limb proportions, as I mentioned. Skin, hair and eye colour are easy, but face shape is less so. You can always add, but never subtract. A creature with no nose could use a prosthetic to appear human, but not the other way around. Extra limbs can be approximated visually, but natural movement would be impossible. Even among the aliens who can pass, there are often small tells… watching hands rather than eyes or mouth when conversing, a voice that resonates oddly, standing too still, or pausing just a tiny bit before their facial expression changes, as if trying to remember the appropriate emotional response. Without knowing why, humans often find them off-putting.” After about ten minutes of practice, Ianto, with his eye for detail, seemed to be picking up the knack of spotting aliens. They were in the middle of debating whether the person snuggling with the oversized anemone was human when Jack saw the club’s owner, the one he had come to see.

The newcomer was bronze-skinned. Not tanned, as most people used the word, but truly bronze: metallic and burnished, with eyes that had no sclera at all, just a pale gold iris and a large round pupil. There were tendrils where hair would be, and they moved as if they were their own creature, reaching, tangling, and occasionally brushing nearby objects. The effect should have been Medusa-esque, but the tendrils weren’t at all menacing in their movements. More… exploratory. Playful. The alien noticed Ianto covertly staring and laughed kindly. “I can hold them still if I think about it. I can wind them together same as I wind my fingers.” The tendrils wrapped themselves into something resembling a crown, then unwound and returned to their relaxed undulations. “But like fingers, when I am not actively thinking about them, I tend to fidget.” The alien turned to Jack and held out a graceful hand that looked human, except that there didn’t seem to be any joints. “Captain, to what do I owe the… pleasure?”

Jack took the proffered hand and kissed it. “Yamali, you’re looking lovely, as ever. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I’m sure you’re quite busy tonight.” Ianto rolled his eyes, and Jack knew he was assuming that Jack had shagged Yamali. He hadn’t, as it happened; he didn’t want to complicate their working relationship. The flirting was just for fun, and they both knew it. The alien nodded, and Jack took that as the signal to get to the point. “We tracked some energy earlier this evening and discovered that it was produced by a device that weakens the structure of the Rift. We need to find this item, and I know you follow such things.”

“Can you describe it?”

“I can tell you what it does: it makes sparkles.”

Yamali laughed, an odd, reedy sound that could never pass for human. “The Rift Glitter! Oh, it gets all over _everything_! Are you saying it’s dangerous?”

Jack looked pointedly at Ianto. ‘Dark Sparks’, indeed! “Not in itself, no. It’s the device doing damage, not the glitter itself. So you have it?”

“I brokered the sale. It looked harmless, or I’d have brought it to you. You know Nicholas Beckett? Looks like a tree?” Yamali waited until Jack nodded. “He wanted it for his costume. Apparently he was planning to put toy fairies in his branches and wanted them to twinkle.”

Both Jack and Ianto flinched at the word ‘fairies’, but Ianto recovered first. “Do you know where he is now?” he asked. 

“Not specifically, no. But try some of the bigger clubs, he wouldn’t have put together a ‘costume’ like that if he wasn’t planning to show off a bit for the locals. Maybe Club X or Metros, they’re big with those of us who choose to mingle.”

“We will, and thank you as always for your help.” Jack held out his hand, and Yamali took it, shaking it firmly.

“It is of mutual benefit. I have other things to attend to, I hope you and your young man will visit us again? In a more social context?” Yamali winked at them, and then Jack and Ianto were left to finish their drinks and plan their search.

 

 

“Yamali seemed nice. Helpful,” said Ianto as they walked to the SUV.

“He is. He passes fairly well among humans when he bothers to try, so he frequently acts as a go-between for those who are underground.”

Ianto looked puzzled. “He? I’d have guessed ‘she’.”

“Technically, Yamali is both. His species has four genders: male, female, neither, and both, though you can’t tell by looking. It’s generally not mentioned except in the context of procreation, and it's considered rude to inquire. I only know about Yamali because I helped him when he was injured once. I use ‘he’ because English doesn’t have a non-gendered pronoun that isn’t either plural or used for an object; I occasionally wonder if that’s why you lot are so stuck on a binary system.”

“As opposed to?”

“Embracing diversity. It seems so limiting to need to know about someone’s genitals before you can decide if you like him. Her. Whatever. See? English is _terrible_! Other languages aren’t quite as bad, but no Earth language really handles gender well.”

“There you go again: no _Earth_ language. Where are you from, Jack?”

It always took Jack’s breath away when Ianto said his name. In his own accent (Boeshane, not American, not that anyone knew that), it was flat and sharp, but from Ianto’s lips it was almost lyrical. He tried to imagine how it would sound being shouted in a moment of passion, and was so distracted that he nearly missed Ianto’s question. “It’s classified,” he responded, hoping that Ianto would let it drop. He didn’t.

“And you honestly expect me to keep pretending I’m too stupid to put it all together?”

“I’d appreciate it for now.” Jack was relieved to see Ianto’s nod, but he knew it was only postponing the inevitable. 

 

 

They reached the parking garage with the SUV just as the silence became awkward. Ianto cleared his throat and took on his usual distant, business-like demeanor once again. “We should start at Metros, Club X is on Charles Street, and that’s going to be a huge mess on a night like this. And if our Mr. Beckett isn’t there, we’ll want to check out the rest of the places nearby anyway.”

“So you know your way around Cardiff’s club scene? Lead on, Mr. Jones.”

“Like you don’t. I saw the gleam in your eye when Yamali mentioned Club X… you just can’t wait to take me to a gay club in what amounts to military fetish wear. The extent of your back catalogue is more frightening than aliens; I’m sure you’ve shagged your way through the place more than once.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Jack found he didn’t want to talk about that, either, so he bit his tongue when a story sprung to mind, and drove to the first club in silence. Metros was busy, but they were able to get in with a minimal wait. Inside, the place was dark, the bass was loud, and the crowd was attractive. Jack, out of habit, immediately scanned the place for likely pulls, then reminded himself that this was business, not pleasure… and anyway, he had the hottest man in the room with him already. He didn’t see Nicholas Beckett, but someone here may have. “Go mingle,” he told Ianto, making shooing motions with his hands. “See what you can find out.” He admired the sway of Ianto's slim hips as he walked away, then turned his attention to working the crowd.

No one had seen their tree man. Jack had spoken to a woman dressed as Josephine Bonaparte, an alien dressed as a grandfather clock, a naughty nurse (there was always a naughty nurse) of unknown origin, and an alien dressed as a human dressed as an alien from Star Trek. He’d danced with a man wearing nothing but paint and a g-string, and had a drink with a person who was either wearing a hell of a fur suit, or was a Treffalan. It was hard to tell. Still, it appeared there was no information to be had here, so it was time to move on.

Jack looked around to see Ianto chatting up a woman (or something) at the bar. If he hadn’t spent the weeks since Ianto’s suspension watching him carefully, and months before that lusting for him casually, he might have thought Ianto’s relaxed posture meant he was actually relaxed. Jack knew better. Ianto looked at ease now because he chose to, and the moment he thought himself unobserved, everything would change, revealing his true self. He had seen Ianto completely unguarded only twice: first in the warehouse with a pterodactyl on the floor next to them, and again on that terrible night when all his illusions had come crashing down, just enough for Jack to know that he’d like to see it again. Even in the Beacons, once rescued, Ianto had retreated into his deep reserve. Ianto’s public face was calm and charming, dryly humorous and causally flirtatious, but shallow, lacking the depth and fire Jack had seen when his defenses dropped. There was much more to Ianto Jones than the world ever saw. Jack made his way over to Ianto, shifting through the crowd. Up close it was obvious that the person with Ianto was alien. Jack decided to tease him a little as he led him to the door. 

“Broadening your horizons then?” he asked. 

“What, that girl? Why, was she… you know?”

“Yup.” Ianto looked more intrigued than repulsed. Maybe he was more open minded than Jack had given him credit for? It was a hopeful sign, anyway. “Fingers just a little webbed, and her exposed midriff, which was quite attractive, had no navel. Her people are semi-aquatic egg-laying mammals. Polyamorous, too. I met a group of them once, spent the most amazing evening; they can hold their breath _forever_.”

“I never know which of your wild stories to believe.”

Jack shrugged. “I never lie about the important things, and for the rest, well, if you can’t tell, does it really matter if they are true or not?”

“I suppose that depends on whether you’re trying to entertain an audience or to share something meaningful about yourself. I could tell you a hundred lies about where I learned to pull a shot of espresso; it makes no difference at all if all you care about is the coffee.”

“And where did you learn to use a- what did you call it? A 1953 Gaga somethingorother?”

Ianto blinked and looked at Jack, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Gaggia. My gran lived next to an older Italian gentleman whose family has owned a café since forever. He thought it was funny to give a kid a double espresso and a biscuit before bedtime, and when his hands started to ache, he taught me to use the machine. A Faemina, not a Gaggia, but about the same vintage. Left it to me in his will, actually; it’s in my flat. Practically the only thing I kept, after…”

“Yeah.” Ianto was right… it _did_ make a difference if this little thing he shared was true or not. Jack knew he could find out, Tosh could check for property records and a will in under an hour, but somehow that would cheapen it. Ianto had offered this little piece of his history, this glimmer of self, and it meant something. He wondered why Ianto was opening up to him all of a sudden, if these tiny glimpses could even be called ‘opening up’; things had been tense between them since the incident with the Cyberman, and with good reason. Jack knew he had reacted badly, and had suspended Ianto at least in part to regain his own equilibrium. And here was Ianto, making tentative overtures of friendship. Perhaps things could be salvaged after all. 

Jack clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully. “Well then, on to Club X!”

“You’re way too excited about this. _Try_ to remember that you’re on the job and not on the pull?”

“Why not both? You were flirting with a platypus, I should be allowed some fun, too.” Ianto gave him a dirty look. “Do you want me to stay close? You’re awfully tempting in that uniform, you’ll be less of a target if I’m with you.”

“I survived cannibals, sir. I hardly thing being propositioned by a man will break me.”

Jack was glad to hear it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, folks. In this chapter there's some smoochings and a bit beyond... but nothing more explicit than was on the show. For that reason, I'm leaving the rating. 
> 
> Also, since I haven't mentioned it before, I don't own any of this, except maybe the glitter and the indignation about the espresso machine.

Jack had to bribe the doorman at Club X to get them in. As with Metros, the interior was loud and dark, but the patrons here seemed a little more energetic. Less inhibited. The crowd was also full of aliens and costumes, and it was going to take some work to search the crowd. He sent Ianto to look around at the bar while checked out some of the darker alcoves where he knew from experience that there would be some not-so-discreet sexual acts. 

Across the dance floor, there was a scuffle. Jack saw one person break free from the group and bolt for the door. By the swaying of limbs and the trail of sparks, Jack could tell it was their target. 

_“Ianto! There he goes!”_ he shouted into the comms, hoping to be heard over the pulsing beat. Ianto immediately took chase, darting through the crowd, dodging around people on the dance floor, and making it to the exit only slightly behind the alien. It took Jack a little longer to get out, and when he did, Ianto and his quarry were nowhere to be seen. _“Ianto, where are you?”_

_“He’s dodged between buildings, heading East. I think I can catch him, but I’ll need your help once he’s down.”_

Jack turned a corner to see Ianto’s retreating form and admired the grace with which he negotiated the various obstacles in the alley, slipping through narrow spaces and leaping over debris. He was clearly gaining on the alien when they both disappeared between buildings. Jack followed as best he could, but he was somewhat bulkier and less agile than Ianto; there were times when being quick and lean was an advantage. He should have had Ianto with them when they were after Bernie Harris, it would have saved a lot of hassle. Jack heard a thud and a scuffle, then silence. 

_“Ianto?”_

_“Got him, sir!”_ he responded, breathing heavily. _“Turn right, then left after the open door. We’re behind the tip.”_

Jack caught up, and found Ianto kneeling with a knee in the tangle of branches on the back of their prone target, who was oozing sap from a split lip. Ianto was flushed, hair disheveled, and had a scrape near his eye and glitter all over, but he didn’t appear at all discomfited by the situation. Clearly a chase through the back alleys of Cardiff was nothing new to him. Jack took out his Webley, and Ianto let the man up. 

Once they got Nicholas Beckett calmed down and talking, they discovered that he had thought Jack was there to confiscate his perception filter. He’d settled in; he had a wife, a family, and a job with Harwood’s Haulage. He went by 'Nick' and had human friends. His wife knew where he was from (and didn’t mind him going out in his natural form once a year), but no one else did, and so he needed the filter to keep the life he’d grown to love. When it was threatened, he’d run. Jack and Ianto assured him that they were pleased that he was assimilating, and made sure he knew that he could call on them if he had trouble. When Ianto explained the _actual_ reason for their visit, Nick's expression went wooden (Jack chuckled to himself) and he swore he had no idea. He practically shoved the device at them, and it took some convincing for him to accept reimbursement for what he had paid. It was Ianto who finally talked him into it. It was amazing to watch; not a quarter hour before, Ianto had knocked the man down in an alley, and Jack had pulled a gun on him, and now Ianto had soothed Nick to the point of sharing photos of his family and swapping stories about how hard it is to settle into a foreign culture. (Ianto swore that a Welshman in London had _at least_ as much trouble as a tree man among humans.) Watching him in action, Jack wondered if he should put Ianto in charge of inter-agency communications. Certainly, the budget negotiations could do with his deft touch. 

They took their leave of Nicholas Beckett and headed back to the SUV with the device. “Should we tell Gwen that her boyfriend has an alien working for him?” Ianto asked with a smirk. 

Jack thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. On one hand, it would be amusing to watch her trying to find out who, but she'd never let it go, and I think Nick deserves his privacy. He’s trying to fit in, and he’s not hurting anyone. I think we owe it to him to let him create the man he wants to be and not hold him back with his past. It’s not my place to out him.”

Ianto looked first thoughtful, then hopeful, and Jack knew that his message had been received. They drove back to the Hub without further conversation.

 

While Ianto tagged and catalogued the artifact for archiving, Jack considered how to ask the question he knew he needed answered. He should have realized, given Ianto’s competence and eye for detail in every other aspect of his job that he’d pick up on the clues Jack didn’t even realize he was dropping. If it had been only tonight’s slip, he might have considered Retconning the evening away, but that wouldn’t work. Ianto had been collecting bits of information for _months_ , and Jack, frightened as he was of having the truth come out, couldn’t bring himself to take that much from a man who had already suffered such loss. But still, he had to know. 

“You can stop pretending to be stupid now,” he said. 

Ianto stopped what he was doing and stood straight, turning to face Jack with his hands on his hips. “Pardon?”

“What have you figured out about me, Ianto? You mentioned what you’ve noticed, what conclusions have you made?”

“Ah.” Ianto tensed, his posture stiffening, as if gathering courage. “I’ve been working in the archives for months—not just the artifacts, but the files. There are references to you all over them, if you know what to look for. They go back over a century, with ‘administrative leave’ during the war. The uniforms are yours, sir. Not only is the fit perfect, they still smell, very faintly, like you.”

“And why were you looking for me in the archives?”

Ianto looked as if he was considering what to say, and then, with a nod suggesting that he’d decided, said, “It’s what I do. What Torchwood trained me for.”

And there is was. He’d admitted… something. Jack wasn’t sure what, but he’d as much as confessed that the information in his file was compromised. “Your file says Junior Researcher.”

“Would you have hired me if you’d known Torchwood London sent me to Uni, and I’d been with them for seven years?” 

“Probably not.”

“Exactly, so I had to hide it. As I was altering my past anyway, I adjusted some other things; school records, arrest record, family… I only had the resources to change the Torchwood file, though. All the original information is still in place if you look. You didn’t. You saw exactly what you expected, what you wanted to see: a low-level lackey. Someone you could safely ignore.”

“So you lied.”

“At the time, dishonesty was the least of my concerns. And much of it is true in spirit, if not in fact. My parents are dead, and my sister and I are hardly close. I did well enough in school, but never wanted to stand out. I went through a difficult phase where I made poor choices. You didn’t see me as a person, so the specifics were irrelevant.”

That stung. Jack had always believed that he was better than Yvonne Hartman because he cared, but Ianto was right: he had been a mystery, then an obstacle, then a challenge, then invisible. Jack had ignored the fact that Ianto was also a survivor, and he was ashamed. Beyond his initial check of Ianto’s file, he’d never bothered to ask Ianto anything about his time at Torchwood One. “What did you do in London?”

“I was an Analyst. Grade Two. My department was sent all the raw data Torchwood collected, and we sifted through it to pick out what was important. We saw patterns and made connections, then collated the data and sent it up to the decision makers with our recommendations. So when I came here with something to hide and I wanted to know how to keep you from noticing me, I paid attention. You made some comments, some things just didn’t fit, so I went to the archives. There were gaps in the data. I looked deeper, and there you were.”

“I’ll ask again: Why were you looking? Why do you care?” 

Ianto turned slightly pink, but he evaded the question. “You’re at least a hundred years old. And then you tell these stories, refer to alien races that aren’t mentioned in the archives as if you know them. Your clothing has rips and blood stains, but you never appear to be injured. You claim to have eaten dinosaur meat, and you have those fifty-first century pheromones that make me want—“ He broke off and looked away, flushed to the tips of his ears. 

“Want what, Ianto?” Jack asked softly. Ianto shook his head and didn’t answer.

“You’re a time-traveler, Sir. Like the Doctor. You heal quickly, and you don’t age. There are references in the archives to you dying, but there’s more than one. You don’t die.”

“I do, I just don’t stay that way.”

Ianto nodded at the clarification. “The night Suzie… died, there were two gunshots, two bloodstains. She was killed by a single bullet, and I’ve cleaned up enough of our messes to recognize the spatter pattern on the back of your coat as a close-range headshot. She killed you that night. Gwen saw it. That’s why you hired her.”

Jack was breathless. Ianto knew. Knew all of it, and had for a while. Had known while Lisa was still hidden in the basement, and hadn’t told anyone. He had betrayed Jack with one hand while keeping his deepest secrets with the other. His feelings about the man, already muddled, were rapidly becoming more so. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you. It was easier for everyone if I simply… pretended. None of it matters, after all. It doesn’t change who you are as a leader, as a person, or as a man.”

At this, Jack looked up and met Ianto’s storm-blue eyes. “And who am I? To you, I mean. I thought—before that night, I thought you wanted me.” He hadn’t intended to say it; he dreaded the answer almost as much as he needed to know. “Was that part of the deception? To get yourself hired?”

Ianto choked back a laugh. “Everyone wants you, there was never a question of that. I didn’t want to want you, I’ve never wanted a man before, but there you were with your scent and your coat and the way you undressed me with your eyes when you thought I couldn’t see, and I wished things could be different. It gnawed at me every time I flirted because I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even when I was with Lisa. God, why am I telling you this? You would have _executed_ me! You _did_ execute her!”

“And I wish I hadn’t had to. That wasn’t Lisa, you have to realize that.”

“I know,” whispered Ianto, turning away, and Jack’s heart broke for him. 

Jack placed a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Ianto leaned into his touch, closing his eyes and brushing his cheek against Jack’s knuckles. Jack felt a wave of tenderness wash over him; this was Ianto, his true self. Honest, bare, so very young, and beautiful in a way that made Jack ache inside. He turned his hand to cup Ianto’s face in a gentle caress.

Ianto put his hand over Jack’s. “I’m sorry too.” He took Jack’s hand, still cradled in his own, and placed a feather light kiss on the palm. Jack moaned at the touch of the soft lips he’d thought about so many times and, without thinking about it, pulled Ianto into a kiss. 

 

It wasn’t technically the first time he’d kissed Ianto Jones, the first having been on the floor of the Hub after he’d nearly been killed when Lisa threw him (the _nearly_ was up for debate, though Jack preferred to think about that as little as possible), but at that time Ianto had tasted of fear and despair, and he had pulled away as soon as he regained consciousness. Now Ianto’s mouth, soft against his, was sweet and yielding. Jack moaned, and Ianto, to his surprise and delight, used the slight parting of his lips to tease Jack with his tongue. Jack opened to him fully, and the kiss deepened.

It was everything he’d hoped it would be. Jack pulled Ianto close, heedless of the lingering sparkles, and the man melted into his embrace, wrapping his hand behind Jack’s neck and ruffling the short hair at his nape. It was perfect. Ianto kissed like he was giving a gift, and Jack did his best to show that he understood, that he knew this was more than comfort or lust (though there was certainly lust too), and that he felt the same way, that this _meant_ something. With one hand still behind Jack’s head, Ianto’s other hand inched lower, first to his lower back, then, tentatively, to rest on his hip. Jack bent his head slightly to nibble his way along Ianto’s jaw to his pulse-point, relishing the feel of the other man’s heartbeat beneath his lips, the salt of his sweat, and the way he tilted his head back with his eyes closed and his lower lip caught between his teeth. He reached up and, using his thumb, gently teased Ianto’s lip free, only to draw a gasping breath when Ianto bit down gently.

Jack needed more. It wasn’t enough to feel Ianto hot and hard against him, he wanted the man trembling at his touch. Sliding his hand between them, he undid the buckle and brass buttons holding Ianto’s (Jack’s) jacket closed, then ran his palm under the rough wool and across the crisp shirt that burned with the heat from Ianto’s body. Ianto shivered, and this was what Jack had been wanting for so long. All pretense was gone, and in that moment he knew he would never be content merely with sex, he wanted the connection. Ianto _knew_ him, and was here anyway, and it had been so long since Jack had a lover who knew. He wanted nothing more that to push Ianto up against the wall and drop to his knees, but he had to take things slowly. Ianto had admitted inexperience, and Jack didn’t want to push him too far or too fast. He held back as much as he could, but when he thumbed across Ianto’s nipple through the cloth, Ianto murmured his name low in his throat, and Jack couldn’t help himself. He yanked the offending shirt out of Ianto’s trousers, desperate to feel skin, sliding one hand around his waist and one up his abdomen to his chest. Ianto didn’t protest, and in fact, leaned into his touch, pulling Jack forward into a messy kiss. Jack grew bold, and let his fingers drift lower, to the buttons fastening Ianto’s trousers.

It wasn’t until Jack brushed lightly against Ianto’s cloth-covered erection, eliciting a twitch from his own, that Ianto pulled away. His eyes were wide with desire, but his expression was deeply troubled. 

“I didn’t mean- I’m sorry-“ he stuttered. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and all emotion disappeared from his face and posture. It was devastating to watch, and Jack wondered anew where Ianto had learned to remove every trace of self from his appearance. It wasn’t a skill that one picked up in a happy childhood; Jack wasn’t sure even he could do it as completely as Ianto could. He resolved to search out Ianto's original records.

“I’d best go,” Ianto said in a voice lacking even a quiver. “I’ll see you in the morning, sir.” He turned and walked somewhat stiffly away.

Jack raced to his office to watch Ianto on the CCTV. His calm exterior never cracked, and if Jack hadn’t seen the moment of panic before he closed himself off, he’d have no idea the man was feeling anything at all. 

 

Jack awakened, surprised that he had actually slept. Out in the Hub he could hear Ianto starting to putter around with the coffee maker. No, the _espresso machine_. He chuckled. Only Ianto would be so pedantic, but now Jack understood why he cared. He wasn’t sure what to hope for this morning… he had seen Ianto’s open passion and his cold distance, and he had no idea which would greet him today. He climbed out of his quarters and, knowing Ianto would deliver his coffee shortly, sat down at his desk to wait, still wearing the trousers and undershirt he’d worn under his flight suit the night before. Ianto didn’t disappoint; a few minutes later he arrived in Jack’s office with two mugs and the Service Dress uniform he’d worn neatly folded and tucked under his arm. Jack stood, wanting to talk to Ianto as a person, rather than an employee. Ianto set the coffees down on the desk and passed Jack the uniform. It was freshly laundered and pressed, with no Rift Glitter in sight. Ianto must have been up all night. 

“Thank you for letting me wear this, sir," he said somewhat awkwardly. 

“You’re welcome. It looked good on you, made me feel young again.”

“Is that… is that why you kissed me?”

“Of course not. I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you hit a Weevil with a stick, then calmly come on to me; it just never seemed to be the right time. Not that I think last night was the right time.” Jack set his mug down and reached for Ianto’s hand. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

“No, Jack. Kissing you, being in your arms… it felt totally natural. That’s part of the problem. My heart still thinks Lisa died two months again, even though my head knows it happened long before. I want to, but I’m not ready. It's still too raw."

Jack nodded in understanding. “If you ever are ready, let me know. Meanwhile, keep the uniform, if you’d like. I think it’s time for me to let go of that part of my life. And maybe I’ll get to see you in it again.”

“Perhaps.” Ianto took his hands from Jack’s and reached for his mug. “Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me something about yourself. Something small, but true.”

Jack thought for a moment, wondering what he could tell Ianto that would be meaningful, but wouldn’t jeopardize the timeline. Something personal. “I grew up by the ocean. Every once in a while, when the wind blows across the water, Cardiff smells just like home.”

It was the right thing to say. Ianto smiled at him; a soft, secret smile that was like the sun breaking through clouds. They stood together in comfortable silence until the alarm sounded, signaling someone’s arrival. Gwen’s voice floated through the Hub. She was describing the party she and Rhys had attended, and it sounded like they’d had a wonderful time.

“Then Rhys said, ‘I can’t believe some of these costumes! When I was a boy we’d dress as ghosts using sheets, but I saw people with horns and wings and testicles!’ Testicles, he said. I about died.”

Owen laughed. “He’s right, though. I went home with a gorgeous girl with her skin painted bronze and her hair up in a knot. Only it wasn’t hair, it was some sort of wig that looked like ropes. I don’t remember what we got up to last night, but I can barely walk this morning!”

Jack burst into laughter, and Ianto took a sip of his coffee, cheeks tight and eyes snapping with mirth. When he spoke, it was in his usual impassive, professional tone, but his eyes were still crinkled at the edges. 

“I suppose you’ll say I can’t tell Owen about his shag last night?” 

“As much as it pains me, no. Yamali deserves his secrets. We all do, until we chose to share them.”

Ianto nodded. “I’m glad we did, sir.”

“Jack,” said Jack. Ianto raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d really like it if you called me Jack.”

“Well, maybe for special occasions.”

And there it was. He and Ianto had learned more about each other in that one night than they had in all the months they had worked together. They had become friends, and now that things were out in the open, Jack was looking forward to seeing where it would take them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! I hope you enjoyed it, I know I had a blast writing it. Thanks to all the readers, the other authors who have written stories that inspired me, and especially to Gmariam, for insisting that I get off my arse and quit complaining that I can't write.


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